


This Christmas

by IfMulderCouldSeeMeNow



Category: The X-Files, The X-Files: I Want To Believe (2008)
Genre: 2009-2014, Christmas, F/M, Fluff, holiday themed, slight angst, then more fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 11:53:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3066893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IfMulderCouldSeeMeNow/pseuds/IfMulderCouldSeeMeNow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Scully, you trying to roast me? Why is the thermostat on 80 degrees?” He yells from their living room, pulling at his shirt to fan himself. She looks at him over her cup of hot chocolate from the kitchen, and shrugs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [adieangel](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=adieangel).



> For adieangel! I was your secret Santa and I'm terribly sorry this fic is late! Anyway, I received a message that you wanted to see where Mulder and Scully were now, so I hope this does the job!

 

**2009**

“Scully, you trying to roast me? Why is the thermostat on 80 degrees?” He yells from their living room, pulling at his shirt to fan himself. She looks at him over her cup of hot chocolate from the kitchen, and shrugs.

“Some people have more body heat than others, Mulder. It’s December and freezing outside.”

“Are you calling me fat?” He questions, incredulous, putting his hand to his chest and gasping in mock horror. She nearly spits out her cocoa and smiles behind the mug, trying with all her might to keep her composure and sound serious.

“Those sunflower seeds are going straight to your hips,” she deadpans and he is across the room in an instant, tickling her out of her chair. Tickles soon turn to kisses, and when they lay splayed on the couch, she finally agrees that the thermostat may be slightly too high.

 

**2010**

The argument is silly, she knows. But he braided his beard once before, so why couldn’t she have this  _one_  silly thing. It wasn’t even silly, she crosses her arms. It was a good idea!

 _“It will emasculate him, Scully,”_  she mocks Mulder, pushing a cart through the grocery store. She doubted he would even remember it. _“He doesn’t need it, Scully,”_  she continues, her face scrunching up. When she nearly throws the carton of eggnog into the cart, Scully knows she needs to relax. Why was she blowing their argument out of proportion? Mulder probably didn’t even realize they had an argument until she stormed out of the house citing "I need to go grocery shopping." Since he was removed from the FBI’s most wanted, and added back to their Most Unwanted, Mulder made an effort to shop with Scully. He wanted to do the mundane, ‘couple’ things that they missed for so many years. "Alone," she added, seeing his face fall.

She realizes that leaving without him was a mistake, when she finds herself in the cookie isle that she had no business being in; the isle that Mulder dragged her into every trip. She drops Chips Ahoy and Oreos in the cart for him: double stuffed.

Hauling the groceries from the car had been difficult, but Mulder notices her struggle and runs outside to grab the canvas bags.  _‘Save the planet, Scully.’_  He jumps from foot-to foot and practically sprints the groceries inside when he realizes that he forgot his shoes.

Scully closes the trunk and slowly makes her way to the front porch and into their home.

“Double stuffed? Someone wants to make up,” Mulder sing-songs from the kitchen.

“Listen, Mulder,” she begins slowly. “I’m sorry for overreacting, it’s just our first Christmas with him and I wanted-”

She stops when their dog, Spooky, comes prancing to her. Ever since Mulder found him on his way back from D.C., he’d been theirs. Though her favorite boots had not survived his transition into their household, Scully loved the pit-bull mix dearly.

His paws clicked against the hardwood floor and he barked excitingly, his whole lower half wiggling along with his wagging tail. She smiles fully and sighs, wondering how she got so lucky to spend her life with the man now buried in junk food.

“Thank you for buying Spooky the Christmas sweater, Mulder.”

Mulder turns around and smiles, cookie crumbs tumbling out of his mouth. “Anything to get off your naughty list, G-Woman.”

**2011**

He’s been in Utah for nearly a week and he knows that with his absence, Scully is probably overworking herself at the hospital. When he calls from his hotel to say: “I might not be home for Christmas,” he hopes that she’ll at least put up a small fight. Convince him to finish the case early. Maybe tease about putting him on the ‘naughty list.’  Instead he gets her voicemail. He sighs dejectedly and wishes that they both worked a little less.

When a knock startles him from his work, he stalks to the door. It was probably the cleaning woman, wondering if he needed more towels. He’d leave her a nice tip once he left for bringing him extra pillows.

Opening the door, he’s shocked to see Scully standing there, Santa hat perched on her head.

“Scully, it’s a four hour flight here!” He nearly shouts, surprised and in disbelief.  He’d only just called her, she must have booked her flight long before his call. She smiles wanly and he realizes that he hadn’t even said hello.

Scully has several bags in her hands and he’s finally able to smell the food. His stomach growls. She shoots him a grin and raises the bag. “I’ve got Chinese food and iced tea. Is that enough for you to let me in, or do I need to mention the new negligee in my carry-on?”

Mulder practically pulls her into the room with profuse apologies. He’s so happy that she’s here, but he still doesn’t know  _why._ She answers his question, and he adds to the mental X-file of ‘Dana Scully: Mind reader.'

“I couldn’t let you work through Christmas, Mulder. You know,  _for better or worse_ ,” she says flashing him her left hand. Marrying Scully had been the best decision of his life, one that he knew she would never demand, but would appreciate. He supposes that it would have meant more 10 years ago, hell even 5 or 3 years ago, but she doesn’t seem to care. She sighs as he relieves her of her heavy winter coat and when he returns from the closet, she’s sitting cross-legged on the bed, looking like she did when he first met her, almost 20 years ago. She grins as she digs into the noodles of the first box with her chopsticks “now bring over those files, before I change my mind, Mulder.”  

He brings the stacks over, happy to have his partner, now in  _every_ sense, by his side. Just having Scully here, working on files like old times, brings warmth to his chest. But it’s not old times, not really. She is his  _wife_ this year. He is her  _husband._  And there’s a mysterious negligee waiting for both of them when they’ve finished this work. He gives her the best of his ‘Mulder charm,’ complete with a grin that solely belongs to him, and shimmies closer to her on the bed, stealing lo-mien with his chopsticks.

“Merry Christmas, Scully.”

 

**2012**

They spend the holiday waiting. Waiting for the end. There are no Christmas trees to decorate, no stockings hung by their fireplace.

Instead, they both take a break from work. No hospitals filled with sick and dying children. No consulting cases that have him wracking his brain and almost running out into the night. He holds her each night, her back pressed to him, and Spooky at their feet. He runs his hands through her long, beautiful hair and whispers into her ears; tells her how much he loves her. They talk about all of the things that they never seemed to have time to talk about.

Did he remember waking up and living the same Monday more than once? Had she remembered telling him she would kiss him if he wasn’t so damn ugly? Where did he think that rogue group of Vampires was now? And yes he did have buck teeth.

When the fated day passes without so much as a snowflake, they don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

She tells him he should finally write his book, now that the apocalypse isn’t looming over his head. He tells her she should make him her famous lasagna. Today was a day to celebrate, not count calories.

It’s when they’re both sipping from their mugs on the couch, Spooky in his Dog bed intently watching television, that they decide on one thing:

They both agree that they need to find William, even if it’s just to know that he’s okay.

 

**2013**

“How does it feel to be a best-selling author, Mulder?” Scully asks as she’s untangling the lights, quirking her eyebrows up. She’s been waiting months for the release, and now she can’t help but stroke her own ego.

“Okay, you were right, Scully. Though, I’m thinking the steaming-hot sex scenes between Agents Turner and Bailey carried the novel in the 35-50 age bracket.”

She smiles smugly as he pulls bulbs from target bags. “I’m always right.”

“So the stockings that caught on fire two years ago weren’t too long to be hung above the fireplace?” He questions coyly. She reaches with such effort and even after all these years, he’s still enchanted by the way her sweater rises ever so slightly to reveal her creamy midriff.

“Shut up, Mulder,” she says as he takes the lights from her hands and strings them around the higher branches of their tree. This is their first real tree since he’s come out of hiding, and he was determined to pick the best one. He doesn’t go full ‘National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation’ on Scully, but he’s sure Chevy Chase would be proud. This tree is a winner.

Later when he braces his hands on either side of Scully’s hips and lifts her to put the Star on the top of the tree, he knows he’s chosen right.

He belonged here, with Scully. All of the roads in his life have led to her. When he lowers her back to the floor and she wraps her arms around him, her teeth exposed in a beautiful smile he knows that there’s no place he would rather be.

The beeping from the smoke detector tells him that being in the kitchen to remove their turkey from the oven might be a better choice.

 

**2014**

They’re sitting in a car, contemplating. Should they be here? Is this  _really_ the right thing to do? He reached out and places his hand atop hers, squeezing it softly.

“We can leave, if you’ve changed your mind, Scully,” he whispers soothingly. She shakes her head adamantly, the present wrapped in spaceship paper balancing precariously on her shaking legs.

“I’m fine,” she tries first, amending the statement when he pins her with a look. From years of experience, his eyebrows quirk in just the right way, she’s sure he’s stolen her move, and his pillow lips pout. “Ok, I’m terrified. What if he hates us?” She moves her free hand quickly to her eyes to swipe under them. That’s all she needed, mascara running down her face on top of everything else.

“He understands,” Mulder whispers. His fingers brush under her chin, and tilt her head so she can look at him. “He’ll love us, and at worst, he’ll thing we’re spooky,” he waggles his brows, and she laughs softly, hitting his arm and running her fingers under her eyes, one last time.

The call was a surprise. The invitation, a shock. But here they were. Mulder and Scully walk up the rickety stairs of the large home, and she smiles as his arm protectively wraps around her waist. 

“Dana! Fox!” The loud, boisterous voice of Henry Van de Kamp calls as he opens the door. “So happy you could make it. C’mon in, Sarah has the turkey ready.”

“We brought pie,” Mulder adds, lifting the Pumpkin delicacy. He nods his head when Henry asks if it’s homemade and smiles to Scully. Mulder doesn’t tell the joyous man that he baked the pie; that while Scully couldn’t bake a boxed cake, she could make one hell of a lasagna.

“Y’all didn’t have to do that,” Sarah Van de Kamp says as she simultaneously scoops the pie from his hands and takes it into the kitchen. “We’re about ready to have supper.” Henry joins his wife in the kitchen, and Scully nearly drops to her knees when a teenager barrels down the stairs and appears in front of them.

“I knew y’all would come!” The boy shouts, in excitement. Mulder holds her steady as Scully’s knees wobble. She shakily hands him the present, and he shoots her a grin that at one time, exclusively belonged to Mulder. His eyes, full of wonder and happiness, are all hers. She smiles wide, and Mulder squeezes her tenderly.

“Merry Christmas, William.”


End file.
